


A Stay In Silvergrove

by IrisPerea2004



Series: Sea of Eventualities [1]
Category: Enderal (Video Game)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Cute Kids, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced discrimination, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, SureAI has turned my heart to ashes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and its more implied than anythin else., lexil only in the last chpter, shit it's gonna get sad, unnamed MC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisPerea2004/pseuds/IrisPerea2004
Summary: The Prophetess was expecting several things when she came to Silvergrove. The experiences with Jespar and Calia had left her wary beyond words of Black Stones an their users.She had expected many things, but to put it succinctly, she hadn't expected Rynéus
Relationships: Lexil Merrâyil/Prophet | Prophetess, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Prophet | Prophetess & Ryneus
Series: Sea of Eventualities [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691068
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	1. Rynéus

The Prophetess was expecting many things from Silvergrove. Jespar had 'died,' and was brought back again. Calia was hurt, body and soul by the mercenaries and the Prophetess' own ill-placed honesty.

But it seemed that it was not to be. Instead of the anticipated nightmare-town, there was in its place, a friendly, if insular coastal town that was more or less thriving. The dark-skinned, hooded guards nodded amicably to her as she passed and the children laughed and played in the streets. It seemed normal enough on the outside. But she remained suspicious. There had been the rockfall, her omnipresent headache, the fact that people seemed simply _too_ friendly and trusting. The talk of the boy being 'cured' of his disfigurement. Or the 'finding' of the silverlode. Things stacked up in odd ways.

But even still, hope began to rise. Maybe, just maybe, she could come out of this without feeling, again, that she hated herself, that if she had just seen these things coming, she could have prevented them, prevented the pain brough to her friends.

She knocked, once, twice, three times on the door to the house that the guard had politely pointed out for her.

"Come in!" someone called, a voice full of joviality and cheer. Something tickled at the back of her mind; she seemed to know that voice, but she couldn't think how or why. No matter, for the moment. 

She pushed open the wooden door, feeling a familiar gnaw of anxiety. A man in simple peasant garb was bent over a rocking-horse toy, knocking pegs into the rockers to hold them in place. He turned, a broad smile on his face and his arms held wide in a gesture of welcome. 

The Prophetess felt the entire world drop out from under her feet. She hadn't seen that face outside of her dreams for years.

"H-hello," she stuttered. This couldn't be her father. Her father was dead, crucified by Jagal's bootlickers; dead on a cross on Ostian, like her mother and little brother. "I-I'm looking for a boy named Rynéus. Are you his..." she faltered momentarily, "...father?"

"Yes, I am," he said breezily. "Why? Do you know him?"

Her mouth was dry, so very dry. "Not personally. But it-it's important, I swear."

"Is it now?" the man said pleasantly. "Well, go ahead. He's in his room, just through that door. I think he's reading but he always enjoys company."

"Thank you," the Prophetess said. No use being rude. "One...One more thing, if you please. Is it true that Rynéus has recovered from his disease?"

She cringed as she spoke, half-expecting to feel the full weight of the man's suspicion. But no, his ingenuousness proved true. He only laughed, and said: "You sure know a lot about my boy, especially since you've never seen him before. But yes, it's true. He's as healthy as a horse and has been for some time now. For some reason, those... well, tumors of his, began to heal shortly after he came here. And before you ask, no, I don't know why. Frankly, I'm not sure I want to. 'Some questions better left unasked,' as the saying goes, you know?"

"Yes," she said, though it probably wasn't necessary. 

"Let me tell you something," he invited. "Even if that miracle hadn't have happened, it wouldn't have made any difference. Not here in Silvergrove. We never would have abandoned him, like the ones who brought him here did. Rynéus has a good heart. Around here that's all that matters."

 _They certainly take care of the village innocent,_ the Prophetess thought. 

The Prodigy knocked gingerly, anticipational anxiety creeping up her spine. A dog barked. 

"Come in!"

There was the boy's voice; high and happy, and ever-so-slightly halting. Small feet pattered across the floor, beating a light but even rhythm. A young boy threw open his door, his smile beaming like the sun. 

"Hello!" he said cheerily. "You gave me a start. Who are you? I don't think I've seen you around here before."

Rynéus was little more than half her height. Sandy-yellow hair, cut like a page's fell around his face, and into his earnest yet piercing blue eyes. His face had not yet lost the slight infantile chubbiness that made his pointed chin stick out all the more. All together, it was a very endearing picture. She smiled, despite herself.

"That's not surprising," she told him. "I'm from Ark."

"Ark?" he exclaimed. "That's way out there."

His enthusiasm was catching. The small dog-- little more than a puppy, really, hopped up from his place at the foot of Rynéus' bed. He bounded around the room, and snatched a small, stuffed bear from it's place. Rynéus exclaimed something and the Prophetess jumped instinctively for the pup. But with a wily flash and a playful growl, the dog wriggled through a gap in the door and vanished. 

"No, Thorus!" the boy cried. He threw the door open, just in time to see the dog scooting up the street.

Rynéus turned to her in desperation, but she was already sprinting up the street in hot pursuit of the fleeing mongrel.

Thorus was a clever prey. Dust flew from beneath his paws as he dodged and dipped, the stuffed toy dangling from his jaws.

Unbidden, a memory rose from the depths of her mind. Her father had brought home a bedraggled puppy with a live, but limp kitten dangling from his gentle jaws. She had fed them and rubbed them down. She and her mother had laughed at the antics of the two. 

And then...

She shook her head, trying to dispel the fog of remembrance, and the thorns that suddenly wrapped around her heart. 

There! With a triumphant yell, she caught the fleeing dog. The puppy wriggled, but didn't growl or snap, as he should have if someone strange had picked him up. 

Rynéus stood in the doorway, and he clapped with glee when the Prophetess came back, smiling broadly. 

Thorus gave a half-hearted growl and wriggled out of her arms. He trotted to his master's feet and dropped the soggy toy at the boy's bare feet. 

"Thank you," Rynéus said, picking up the toy. He brushed the stuffed animal off, with brisk movements. "That was awesome! Ritha and Gajus will be so jealous that I have a friend like you." Suddenly his eyes sharpened. "You are my friend, aren't you?"

She opened her mouth, then stopped, and closed it again. Rynéus studied her with painful expectancy. 

"Yeah," she said slowly. "I guess I can be. If you're my friend?"

"I am!" he said enthusiastically. 

She sighed. "Rynéus, I need your help finding something."

He sat on his bed, kicking his heels. "Sure," he said seriously. "You helped me, now I'll help you! That's what friends do isn't it?"

"Can I sit down?" she asked.

"Sure," he said. He patted the blankets at his side.

The Prophetess licked her lips mindlessly, trying to think how to phrase this. "Rynéus," she said slowly. "This... may sound a bit odd, but I need your help to find a gem. A black stone."

"A stone?" he said, puzzled. "What do you want with a stone?"

A lie formed itself in her mind and jumped to her tongue. Rynéus' even gaze blinked up at her, and froze the words.

He deserved to know. 

"I need it to keep..." Did he need to know this? It would only scare him. "...something bad from happening, let's put it that way. What can you tell me about it?"

He kicked violently, clearly deep in thought. "All right," he said, with a slowness not born of his halting mode of speech. "I think I know what stone you're talking about, yes. I can show you where it is only under one condition."

 _Here it comes,_ the Prophetess thought, her heart sinking.

"All right," she said, matching his slow tone, but doing her best to hide her unhappiness. "If that's what it takes."

He nodded once, firmly. "Then we'll make a bargain. That's what you grown-ups call it, right? A bargain?"

"We do," she said, wanting to kick just as violently as he did. "What kind of bargain?"

"It's simple," he responded. "You grant me three wishes, and I'll show you where the stone is."

"All right," she said. "Deal."

_Damn it_


	2. The First Wish

The Prophetess stayed in the inn that night, and rose early in the morning. For once, her dreams were peaceful, untroubled by traumatic recollections. 

Some small winds eddied around her feet, carrying tiny dustdevils over her shoes. The sun was painfully strong, even this early in the morning. 

"Good morning," a woman greeted from her doorway, her eyes bright against the darkness of her skin. "Can I tempt you with a date pastry?"

The smell wafting through the early morning air was deliciously tempting, and the Prophetess' stomach rumbled menacingly. Rather ruefully, she thought she was getting spoiled by the three-meals routine of Temple life. 

"No thank you," she finally said. "Maybe later."

Thorus scurried around the corner, his ears flying. Rynéus followed, his bare feet throwing the omnipresent sand into the air. When he saw her, he skidded to an abrupt stop, and gawked up at her.

"Good morning," he said cheerily, bobbing his head in an attempt to greet her on her own terms.

"Good morning," she said, gravely inclining her head to him. 

"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" he asked politely. He himself was nibbling on a slab of bread drizzled with oil and honey. 

"No," she said. "I don't need to eat right now."

He made a small 'oh' sound. Thorus wound around the pair's heels, barking excitedly. He reared up and planted his paws on the Prophetess' already stained trouser legs. He yipped and then springboarded into the street. The Prophetess laughed at the puppy scooting along the road.

She hadn't laughed like that in a long time; an innocent laugh at a pup's tricks. It had only been bitter, jaded caricatures of mirth for ever since she had arrived on this cursed continent. It felt good to be able to smile properly.

"Have you thought of your first wish?" she asked, slowing her long-legged stride to match his shorter legs. He jogged along determinately beside her. 

"Almost," he said cheerfully. "Daddy's working on it now. It'll be ready by sunset."

The Prophetess wandered aimlessly through the secluded cove, occasionally conversing with the locals. They were all warm and friendly, none of them seeming to mind her half-moon ears that stuck out of her hair. Nobody even stared. Without realizing it, she began to slip into the spell of peace that surrounded the sleepy little cove. 

She ate a meat-and-cheese pie she bought from the baker for her midday; savouring every bite of flaking pastry and rich filling. Rynéus sat beside the millpond, paddling in the placid pond. Thorus was absent, probably scrabbling about with other dogs. 

"Hey-o," she called, and waved. He grinned and waved back.

Rynéus came to her when the sun was just starting to sink, obviously excited. "It's ready!" he exclaimed, and tugged her by the hand along the beach. 

It was a large wooden crate, a bow and training arrows leaning against it. Rynéus' father greeted her with a smile, and then turned to his son.

"This one is to start it, this one to make it go faster," he told the lad, pointing to a set of small levers. "Understand?"

Rynéus nodded eagerly and threw his arms around his father in a spontaneous hug. "Yes father," he said happily. "Thank you! You're he best father in the whole wide world!"

The man chuckled quietly and patted his fair-haired son. "Now, be back before dinner, both of you. Malphas was kind enough to send our hunter a big deer, and he's sharing some with us."

A shudder went down the Prophtess' back and her stomach twisted.

Rynéus looked at her curiously. "Are you all right?" he asked. 

She nodded, and turned her eyes away from the small man's retreating back.

"So, what's this?" the Prophetess asked, injecting tone with casualness she didn't feel.

"It's a Starling sphere," Rynéus explained. "I found it washed up on the shore, and Daddy fixed it for me. I've been waiting for someone to test it with."

The Prophetess frowned slightly. "I always thought Starling technology was really complicated," she said. She remembered Lexil grumbling about it to another magister.

"It is! But Daddy can fix anything," he explained. "Now, I'll start the sphere, and you'll shoot at it with the bow. We can see how fast you go!"

A half-smile crept up onto the Prophetess' face. A proper, light-hearted challenge then?

"All right," she said, eagerly snatching up the bow and blunt-tipped training arrows. "I'm ready. Just stand behind me, for safety's sake."

It was almost nightfall by the time they got back to the house, tired but cheerful. They had played with the sphere until it was almost to dark to shoot properly. Thorus had come to watch for the last few rounds, and now tagged at the boy's heels as the pair walked back up to the house.

The stuccoed cottage was warm and alive with the smells of spiced lentils. Rynéus's father had saved them both bowls of the pottage he had made, and they ate in cheerful silence.


	3. The Second Wish

"Have you thought of your second wish?" the Prophetess asked, scratching Thorus behind the ears.

Rynéus was sitting at his desk, sketching a vibrant orange-winges butterfly that fluttered along the branch the boy had provided for it.

"Maybe," he said, the _scritch-scratch_ of his pen nib on the paper a quiet, homey sort of sound that reminded the Prophetess of Lexil's study in the Sun Temple.

"Well, then what are we going to do today?" she asked lightly.

"Have you been to Moonglow Meadow?"

"No. Why?"

"Just wondering." There. One wing was done. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, and dabbed at the paper with his charcoal.

The Prophetess sat beneath a shade-awning, strung from the Inn's wall, watching the grocer and baker close their shops in the sunset's blaze of color.

A door creaked open and then shut again. 

"…don't stay too late," a familiar voice was saying. "And if she doesn't agree, come straight back and I'll go with you."

"She'll say yes," Rynéus said confidently. "She's nice like that."

His father chuckled. "Go on, my boy."

Rynéus arrived bneath the awning not two seconds later, a cheeky grin on his face and a basket under his arm.

"I know my second wish," he said confidently. 

Moonglow Meadow was a pretty little field beside the millpond and the stream that ran past it. It was greener than much of the rest of the town and the lands around, consistently watered by the stream that burbled happily past. Rynéus led her into the little field and set the basket down on a rock, clearly rather pleased with himself.

"So what's your second wish?" she asked, puzzled.

"I want you to help me catch one of the Moonglow Moths," he said confidently. "I've tried an' tried to get one myself but they're just too fast."

"All right. What's this for?" she motioned to the basket, covered with a green cloth that was slightly grease-stained.

"The food's for you," he explained, lifting a cloth-wrapped package from the basket. "The sketchbook and charcoal for me. The food was my idea," he added. "You haven't been eating much."

"Thoughtful of you."

He beamed. "Anyway, they only come out at dusk," he explained. "They glow-- or anyway their wings do. And they sing."

"Sing?" 

He frowned, trying to find the words to explain. "Chime, sort of. When they beat their wings it makes a chiming sound-- like…" he trailed off, fumbling with his words.

"I think I understand," she said, even though she sort of didn't "I'll tell you if I see one and you tell me if I'm right."

"Fair enough," he said contentedly. "I might have squished your bread a little, but it'll still be good!"

The sun dropped low behind the clouds, leaving a velvety dusk trailing in its wake The Prophetess nibbled at the flatbread stuffed with soft lentils. Rynéus sketched something in his book by the fading, yet still bright light of the gloaming.

A delicate sound, sort of like the sound of wind playing a fragile crystal flute drifted back to the Prophetess' ears. She lifted her head and set down her half-eaten stuffed flatbread.

"Rynéus," she breathed, watching the moth that had settled on a dusky gold flower. Indigo faded outward to lavender and gleaming white; almost like tiny jewel set along the velvety black lines that separated each pane of the wing. It flicked out its long, slim mouthparts and probed the trumpet-shaped flower.

"You found one," Rynéus said solemnly. "Well done."

He tried to slide off the rock he had sat on and creep toward the singing moth, but it took flight again, startled by his clumsy approch. He exclaimed in frustration.

"So you want me to catch one?" she asked, still enthralled by the softly chiming butterfly. 

"One would be good," he said frankly. "I'd like five, to study them properly, but that's not really important."

"Five," she echoed. "All right. Jars?"

He dug a glass jar frum the bottom of the basket and handed it to her.

"Come here, pretty butterfly," she crooned, moving slowly toward the gleaming moth. It flicked its antennae and remained still until the Prophetess tried to bring her jar down.

"Got-- Oh, damn!"

It danced over the flowers, gleefully teasing the Prophetess for her slowness.

"All right, you beautiful bugger," she said, her competitive blood rising. "Let's see what you got."

She chased it gleefully around the meadow, laughing, tripping, and failing again and again. Rynéus watched, crying warnings through a haze of paralyzing laughter.

Finally, she handed him the deceptively docile butterfly in the glass jar with the loose-woven cloth over the top. She grinned, sweat beading on her face. "Four more?" she said cheerfully. "Four more it is!"

She fell in the millpond once, and emerged soaked to the skin. Rynéus had been sobbing in helpless laughter at her antics as she gallivanted about, which, she admitted to herself, had definitely been part of the plan.

When they trotted home, five moth fluttered in their jars, and the Prophetess was shivering and sneezing but laughing all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, karking Corellian hells, the next one's getting into the sad territory...


	4. The Third Wish

Days trickled by like sand through the narrow stem of an hourglass. The Prophetess grew restive, impatiently waiting for Rynéus' final wish; fighting against the treacherous voice that whispered at her to stay, stay and let Arantheal and his Order fend for himself. 

_Rynéus is a kind-hearted lad and wise beyond his years,_ she argued with herself. _He'd understand. And when all this is over, I'll return. Maybe Lexil can come along; he could use a break._

The sun was setting. It was the eighth day she had spent in Silvergrove.

"It's only been a week," she told herself aloud, or maybe she spoke to the ginger cat that strolled along the damp sand, leaving a trail of pawprints behind her. "Only a week. I can wait for Rynéus to make up his mind."

The cat meowed, and continued on her way.

When she went back to the Inn, she found Rynéus sitting beside his house, a strange expression on his face, as if he was all twisted up inside and about to cry. When he saw the Prophetess coming he retreated back into his house.

Her mouth hanging open in puzzlement, she stepped toward the door and almost knocked, but thought better of it.

"Goodnight, Rynéus," she called through the door and left.

He found her early the next morning, his face set resolutely. "I know what my last wish is," he told her. "But first-- Can I show you something? Then-Then I'll tell you."

He led her along the stream that ran down from the mesas that hemmed the little town in, toward the ruins on the cliffsides. He didn't chatter excitedly as he had in the meadow, or on the beach. He was solemn and silent as he led the Prophetess through the palm woods.

The ruins of a manor were cradled in an overhang of rock, but Rynéus led her onward, all but ignoring the moldering sandstone. A passage was cut into the rock beside the waterfall. The mossy stones were slippery underfoot, but not unduly so. The Prophetess brushed past a sopping strand of thick moss, wincing as it dripped icy water down her the back of her neck.

Rynéus ducked under the dripping strands, into a yawning cave mouth. The Prophetess followed, expecting all-but-complete darkness.

Instead, the cave glittered with the shimmering fog sponges, filling the tunnel with an eerie, starlike glow. Rynéus smiled.

"It's beautiful down here," Rynéus said happily. "Come on. The best part's yet to come."

The tunnel widened out ahead, opening into a enormous dome with a cracked top, allowing bright sunlight stream into the cave. It illuminated a corner of a ruined stone cottage. A painting sat in the stream of light, red and orange and pink and gold. Like a sunset.

Rynéus broke into a trot. "See?" he said eagerly. "I painted us together, on the beach, remember? After we tested the sphere?"

A lump formed hard and choking in the Prophetess' throat at the sight of the two sun-silhouetted figures. "It's well done," she said. "It-It's beautiful."

"Do you really think so?" he asked shyly. "I thought you might but I-- I wasn't sure. It means a lot to me."

"It's beautiful," the Prophetess said sincerely.

"Can-Can I tell you my last wish now?" he asked, wrapping his arms about himself, as if he was cold. "And then I'll give you the stone, just like I promised."

"Go ahead."

"I wan't you to stay here," he said simply.

She simply stared, her mouth half-open. Rynéus rushed onward. "I'm sure daddy would let you move in if I ask him. Then we could play together every day and eat with daddy every night, like--like we really were siblings..."

Anger welled up in her chest, anger at the offer she wanted so badly to accept, and had to refuse. "I can't," she said, biting back tears. "I already told you, there's something I have to do on the outside!"

"But why?" Rynéus stuttered, taken aback by her vehemence. "What is so much better than Silvergrove? Nobody goes hungry or gets sick, and it hardly ever rains! What is in that stupid city you need to get back to? The world out there is so cruel. So...so cold..."

"Rynéus, I--"

"Or is it me?" he demanded, obviously near tears. "Have I been a silly little brother, with stupid, boring games? That will change, I promise!"

"Ryénus..."

He sniffled, holding back a sob. "I just-- I don't want to be alone anymore."

None of this made the slightest sense to the Prophetess, but her fears about the stone began to rear their ugly heads. No, she must be misunderstanding him. Had to be misunderstanding.

"You won't be alone here, even when I leave. You'll have your father and Thorus, even if I can't stay."

His eyes dulled. "I'm just so...worn out. So tired. The flight through the crypt, the prison, and now hhhis. I thought you might feel the same."

Icy claws wormed into her innards, seizing her heart in cold grip of fear. "What do you mean?"

"There's something I haven't told you," he said, meeting her eyes again. "I want to, but I'm afraid you'll hate me, just... just like everyone else."

"I wouldn't hate you, Rynéus," she said, reinforcing her voice with a surety intended to bolster him. He wilted instead, seeming to sink inside of himself.

"I just don't know where to start," he said. "But... I'll try." 

The boy took a deep, deep, shuddering breath. "Promise you won't hate me?" he asked.

"Promise." she said firmly.

He sat, crosslegged on the damp stone, and the Prophetess followed suit. This was clearly going to take a while. 

"I never wanted them to be trapped like that," he began. "Honest, I didn't. I just wanted them to like me. But back then, they were always so mean to me. They'd call me 'freak' or 'demon' or things like that. Always." His voice trembled violently but he soldiered on. "They hated me just because I had bumps on my face, and my left leg was all lumpy and twisted. Only daddy loved me."

"But... weren't you cured?" she asked gently.

"No. I... I never was, not really. All of this," he motioned around him in a great sweeping gesture, "all of it really started when that old lady died. One day as she was passing by our house, she just died right in the middle of the street. My daddy said her heart stopped beating because she was so old, b-but everyone else blamed me. They said I had killed her with wild magic b-because I'm a Pathless demon."

The cold that gripped her innards was no longer quite fear. With horrible certainty, she just knew what he was going to say next.

"Hey, hey," she soothed, reaching out to him. "It's all right. It wasn't your fault."

Tears ran openly down his face, breaking down his stoic façade. "No. Nothing is all right. Nothing at all." He rubbed awy the tears, leaving broad smears of dust on his cheeks. "They came two days after that, when daddy and I were sleeping. I remember two shadowy shapes trying to pull out of bed, and then.... and then... I screamed and cried and my daddy came in at he started screaming too," the words tumbled over each other, seeming to fight to get out after being bottled up for so long. "He-he punched one of the men in the face and then... then..." for a moment, the boy's voice seemed to fail him.

"One... one of the women pulled a knife from her coat and she... she..."

"By the Gods," she whispered, horrified. "They killed your father?"

His voice was so painfully small as he answered with a simple "Yes."

The Prophetess felt sick. Even though she had sort of expected something like that, it still hurt, physically, viscerally, everywhere. Like was the who had been stabbed. She put an arm around his shoulders, a paltry comfort for such great grief.

"I don't know if she had meant to," he continued in a broken voice. "But she stabbed him again and again, and then there was blood everywhere, on me, on my drawings, even on Thorus' basket. Then they looked at each other in a weird way, and just ran." His voice hystoerically. "Do you understand? They just ran, left me and daddy alone! I couldn't even follow because of my stupid leg!"

She pulled him closer in a tight hug so he wouldn't see her own bitter, bitter tears.

"I was so afraid, sister," he muttered to her, small arms tightening about her neck. "So afraid. And then... then the stone started speaking to me."

"The stone..." she whispered. "You had it with you."

Rynéus nodded, and pulled away to dredge an amulet out of his tunic. A flat black stone sat in the center of skillfully wrought silver, gleaming red deep in the stone's heart catching the light and gleaming evilly.

"The stone's in here," he said. "Daddy always said I had it when he found me."

Her jaw clenched and she looked away from the little gem swinging on its silver chain. Rynéus obviously thought her ire was directed at him, for he rushed on: "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but I was afraid you'd just take it and leave."

"No, you did the right thing," she said gently. "I'm not angry with you. What did the stone say?"

She stood again; crouching for so long was playing absolute hell with her knees.

He looked away again, tucking the pendant back into his shirt. "It-It said it could make everything better. I could make it so Daddy didn't die, and all my wishes would come true. I could walk like everyone else, and everyone would like me."

"And you accepted."

He nodded. "And then I got a strage feeling my tummy, like when Daddy used to lift me in the air to play Myrad. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, everything was different. My room was beautiful and full of light, and daddy was sitting at the foot of bed, saying it was all a bad dream, and I should go look in the mirror. I was like this--" he motioned to himself. "Normal."

"So none of this…" she waved an arm at their surrounding, "is what, real?"

"Yes and no," he replied. "It is real, just... made to be how I wanted it to be. I think the stone makes everyone in Silvergrove see the world how I do, and do the things I want them to do, before I even know it myself."

Something in his eyes was too sad, too knowing. "At first I was so happy, you know? Everyone loved me, and there were date pies every night, and people would play with me 'cause I didn't have the bumps any more. I... I was... so happy."

"But you aren't anymore," she said softly. "Because it's not real."

He shook his head. "No. Like when I play tag with Gajus, it's not really him I'm running from, it's me. He's like a doll, you know. A puppet. Everyone who comes to Silvergrove ends up like that, whether I want them to or not."

The Prophetess jolted. "You mean--"

He shook his head again. "No. You aren't like the others. You see my Silvergrove, but you do what you want to do, not what I want you to do."

It was something of a relief, but just like everything else, it raised more questions than it answered.

"If you're so unhappy here," she asked slowly. "Then why don't you make everything go... you know...'normal' again?"

"I can't he said miserably. "The stone said everyone would die because they haven't eaten anything real for years and years. It's only me, only my wishes that make them so healthy. And even if I could," he added, suddenly fierce, "I wouldn't. People would hate me and daddy would die and I'd be stuck with the stupid bumps again. That's why you have to stay, don't you see? You can be happy and I won't be alone any more. See? It's my third wish and you promised to fulfil all of them!" His chubby little fingers closed around her sleeve, pleading with her. "You promised me!"

Her hand folded over his, perhaps a token of comfort. "I can't Rynéus. You know that. There has to be another way."

His whipped back and forth like a furious mule. "There isn't, there isn't," he insisted. "We'll all die, you, me, everyone! Even if I could, I wouldn't, because then you'd see me with the bumps and hate me, just like everyone else. You'd see my face , my leg, and spit on me and run away. I just can't take it anymore. Don't you see?" I just can't."

"Rynéus," she said calmly. "I promise- Promise on my mother's grave that I won't leave you. Ever."

She looked him straight in the eyes. "I promise not to hate you when we get to the outside."

His voice clouded with uncertainty. "Promise-- but... Well, maybe you're right. You were nice to me from the beginning... But if we do die-- not just the others, but us too? I don't want you to die!"

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't scared too; she hadn't eaten anything real in a week, and what if...

No. No what-ifs.

"Ready when you are," she said. 

Rynéus took a deep breath, stealing himself as much as he could, nerving for the leap into the unknown. He lifted stone on its chain from beneath his shirt and...

He swallowed hard and closed his hand around it, his eyes sliding shut. The Prophetess waited with bated breath.

His eyes flew open. "I don't know if it worked," he said, sounding scared. "I--I feel so.. weird and-- Oh no."

"What? What's wrong?" she demanded, a panicked edge in her voice that only grew as the nimbus of shadow began to twine around the stone clenched in the boy's small fist.

"The stone-- the stone is in my head," he whimpered, pressing the flat of his free palm to his temple. "I--No!" he screamed in pain and fear. "Help me, sister, please! It hurts so much!"

He vision was fading to white around the edges, but she lunged forward, heedless. "What do I do?" she demanded trying to pull him closer, yank that damn stone off his neck--

Her hands went right through him as he was made of pure light. He screamed again, and she was bodily flung backwards. Her head cracked against the ground, hard.

A mighty roar sundered the air, dragging her rudely back to consciousness. Her head was thundering and she couldn't see straight, but she could still make out the monster that stood over the cracked foundation.

Its face swollen and tumorous, red splotches standing out against blue-grey skin.One arm was an arm no longer, but a bone jutting out from scraps of ruined, supperating flesh, sharpened into a crude spear. The other was grotesquely long and brushed the ground. An huge growth on it's neck pulled the head to one side. It was a gargantuan Oorbâya.

"Rynéus?" she whispered in horror.

It lumbered toward her, rumbling ominously, the stabbing arm held at the ready. She froze, praying that wht she'd heard about their poor eyesight was true. 

It wasn't. The Oorbâya broke into a shambling trot, unleashing a mighty roar. Without thinking, she seized at a passing eventuality and yanked, maybe harder than she should have--

And suddenly she was behind it, tumbling into a heap of bracken in a decidedly undignified manner. She stumbled up again, pulling her shortsword from its sheath at her hip. The Oorbâya turned, far faster than it should have, catching her wholly off-guard. 

"Oh shit," she whispered, and dove out of the way, slashing at its hip as she went.

It bugled a raging cry and tried to stomp on her with a malformed foot as big as her chest. She dodged by pure chance and fell over, nauseous and dizzy. If she didn't find a way to end this fight soon, there wouldn't be enough of her left to bury. 

The tunnel. Surely that thing would be too big to fit through the tunnel. 

"Gods," she groaned, heaving herself to her feet. She pulled at another possibility, one where the Oorbâya was wreathed in very satisfying flames, but she was too weak to pull it all the way through. A hot, red, angry burn mark streaked down the thing's face, but that was all.

She had to get closer. Fast. Closer, where it couldn't use its bone-blade.

And so she ran towards it at full tilt. Stupid, but maybe she could catchh it off guard long enough--

She sliced her blade into the soft underbelly, and up, until it stopped at bone. The thing squealled and hunched over, trying to keep its entrails from falling out. With a quick cut, she flicked her sword over its throat.

Blood-spattered, dizzy and on the verge of collapse, she staggered out of the cave, praying that Rynéus was still alive. That monstrous, mind-twisted thing couldn't have been that little boy. Couldn't. He--he had to still be in the village, on his bed like he had been when this illusion had begun.


	5. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now the conclusion.

The village was ruined. Years of neglect had conspired to gnaw away at the buildings, and withered corpses, mummified by dry heat and sand lay on the roads, unburied where they had fallen. A dim, purple nightfall seemed to have blotted out the sun; like a sandstorm of fine violet dust. Everything was silent.

Her heart in her mouth, the Prophetess pushed open the half-cocked door to Rynéus' house. 

Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. She left footprints behind herself, tracks throught the piled dust, but paid no heed to them.

"Rynéus," she called softly, stepping into his room. Another body lay the floor, withered and desiccated, his greyed skin hanging off his bones like an underlayer to the tunic he had worn. 

Rynéus lay on the bed, the left side of his face an unrecognizeable knot of fleshy tumor that had enveloped his eye. His foot was twisted inwards, grossly thickened while every other part of him was bone-thin. He was ugly sure enough, but not a monster. Just a boy, born to a cruel world.

"Sister," he whispered. As he spoke his lips cracked and bled. "We-we did it. We're alive."

"Yes we are," she said softly. "You did very well. We have to get you to the healers. Can you walk?"

"No," he said, shivering pitifully. 

She slung her backpack off her shoulders. "I suppose that might be just as well," she told him. "Duneville is too far away. Just hang on."

She rummaged through her pack, probably spilling something, but she didn't care. Her fingers met the papery scroll that she searched for and yanked it out triumphantly. She shouldered back on--couldn't leave that!

"I'm going to take you to Ark," she told him. "Just hang on."

She scooped the weakened boy up in her arms and willed the spell to take them to the Temple.

When she landed in front of the fountain she nearly collapsed, her knees buckling and head spinning like mad.

She sucked in a breath of air and yelled: "Someone help me!" with all her might, praying she wouldn't faint. She must have hit her head harder than she thought.

Lexil ran down from his place at the Beacon, a paladin from his place as doorguard. Yuslan's head jerked up, and the Truchessa sprinted as best she could under her armor.

Lexil caught her before she gave way entirely, a surprisingly strong arm wrapping around her waist and keeping her from hitting the flagstones. Rynéus whimpered, his thin fingers clinging to her shirt. Strange people were crowding the edges of his vision and he was already scared.

"Back away!" Tealor Arantheal roared, striding toward the cluster. "All of you, back away or help me get them to the healers!"

The Thruchessa put another arm under Lexil's. "Let's go, Archmagister," she snapped, already moving. "There's no time to waste."

The Prophetess tried to get her feet under herself and help them along, but it was really all she could do to cling to Rynéus.

She couldn't remember much afterward. Some healers took Rynéus and Lexil bullied a few into going to her. For such a gentle man, he could bully people extremely well. She vaguely remembered him sitting with her as the healers worked over her rather serious concussion, flitting out only a few times for short periods, then longer and longer as she stabilized.

Hours passed. Lexil left again, and when he came back he had a somber look on his face. 

"The boy's asking for you," he said. 

She shook off the protestations of the healers that she was not fully healed and would make herself worse again, and all but bolted toward the seperate room they had insisted he stay in. 

"Rynéus," she said, her voice quivering with fear. "I'm here, Rynéus, I'm here." She reached out to take his bony little hand. 

"Sister?" he murmured, stirring a little bit. "Sister, I think I'm dying."

"No," she insisted. "No, you'll be all right, and I'll buy a house for us and..." her voice cracked and she broke off, swallowing hard past the choke in her throat.

"The healers kept looking at each other funny and whispering," he said, with remarkable calm. "The tall man with a silver beard came in to keep me company, and the healers kept trying to shoo him away."

She twisted back to look at Lexil who was standing near the doorframe, a fond smile touching her lips. "I bet," she said. "Why don't you get some rest so you get better?"

When she tried to draw her hand back, but his fingers tightened. "Don't leave me, sister," he whispered. "I don't want to be alone when…" his voice faltered. 

She smiled through the tears that blurred his misshapen face. "I'll stay," she murmured, patting the coverlet over him. 

"I think I'll sleep," he mumbled. "Stay with me, please."

She waited until his breathing was deep and regular, to make sure he really was just sleeping. Then she withdrew her hand and went to Lexil.

"Is there anything they can do?" she asked, wiping away her tears.

He shook his head, his eyes overbright, even for an Aeterna. "The healers said that... that the stone was the only thing keeping alive. When he broke its hold on him…" he couldn't bring himself to finish, and cleared his throat instead. 

She had expected that. Somewhere, she had known that Rynéus was going to die.

She cried anyway, turning away from Lexil and burying her face in the blanket. Her sobs were quiet, almost silent, in an effort not to disturb the small boy whose bedside she knelt beside.

An arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she smelled the Archmagister's distinctive cologne that he always refused to go without. Ordinarily, she joked about it, but now it bespoke the comfort of another's presence; one whom she like and trusted. She returned the half-embrace whole-heartedly, glad of his presence.

"I'll stay with you," he said. 

She dozed off only once, around midnight, and woke up with her head on Lexil's shoulder and drool slathered over her cheek and chin and dampening his suit. Just awake enough to be embarrassed, she jerked away, wiping her face. He stirred, obviously half-asleep himself, and turned to see what had made her jolt so violently.

When he heard Rynéus still breathing, he turned to her with a quizzical expression on his face. "What is it?" he asked, his voice husky from almost-sleep.

"Nothing," she said, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. "I just didn't realize I was asleep."

"Ah. What woke you?"

"I don't know." She glanced at his suit overcoat, a hint of blush dusting her cheeks with ceimson. "I sort of drooled on your coat," she explained as he glanced it in turn, 

He shrugged, slipping it off his shoulders; leaving him in his white blouse with ruffles at the collar and cuffs. "Small harm done," he said. "It won't stain."

Rynéus stirred and mumbled something. It made both of them start and the Prophetess stopped staring; though inwardly she admitted that Lexil still cut a very fine figure in his shirtsleeves.

"Daddy..." Rynéus mumbled, his voice only barely intelligible. "I didn... mean.."

He whimpered softly and lapsed into silence again. The Prophetess found his thin hand and grasped it, as if she could ground him, and keep his soul from escaping the shrivelled, twisted body.

The minutes ticked by into the early morning. Lexil drowsed lightly; propped against the bed, chin on his chest. The Prophetess waited tirelessly at the young boy's bedside, her fingers gone numb from stillness.

Rynéus tossed and turned, muttering and whimpering, calling for his father, for Thorus, sometimes for her. She would squeeze his hand and talk back to him, assuring that she was with him, that everything would be all right. 

A few hours before dawn he seemed to half-wake, his eyes glazed with sleep and dull with pain, but still aware of his surroundings. 

"Sister…" he murmered. "I think...it's coming. Stay? You promised..."

"I'm staying," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead.

He lapsed back into sleep, comforted by her presence.

And only a few minutes after, the boy breathed his last, and quietly left the world that had treated him so cruelly. The Prophetess sat by him until Lexil woke, tears running silently down her face.


End file.
